The Cauldron of Warming

There was a season where my Cauldron of Warming was so low I could not feel my own heat.

Not dramatic.
Not collapsing.
Just dim.

I was still functioning. Still mothering. Still tending. Still showing up.

But inside, something had gone quiet.

The years before had been full.
Matt away for long stretches.
The caravan.
The move.
Rebuilding a home.
Re-landscaping the entire backyard.
Trying to run my business while visiting my grandmother three or four times a week as she declined.

Nothing was catastrophic.

But everything required warmth.

And warmth is not infinite.

In Celtic tradition, the Cauldron of Warming is the vessel that holds our life heat. Our vitality. Our embodied yes. It governs the belly, the blood, the rhythm of energy through the body.

When it is strong, we feel steady. Not hyper. Not manic. Just warm.

When it is low, we don’t need motivation.

We need tending.

I remember thinking at one point that I needed more discipline.

That I needed to push through.
Be more consistent.
Show up harder.

But the truth was simpler.

I was cold.

Cold in my nervous system.
Cold in my belly.
Cold in the part of me that once rose easily in the morning.

I have always needed more rest than many women around me. I used to see that as a flaw. Now I see it as design.

Some women are bonfires.
Some women are hearth fires.

I am a hearth fire.

The Cauldron of Warming does not roar. It glows.

And I had let mine burn too low.

There was no grand ritual that restored it. No dramatic healing moment. No lightning bolt awakening.

There was repetition.

Earlier nights.
Less output.
More tea.
Walking slowly on the treadmill instead of punishing workouts.
Gardening between 7:30 and 10:30 while the sun touched the soil and, quietly, touched me.

I stopped forcing creative production. I let the land hold me for a while.

When I speak about the Cauldron of Warming now, I do not speak as a teacher describing a framework.

I speak as a woman who has rebuilt hers more than once.

There are signs when it is leaking.

You feel behind even when you are doing enough.
You feel irritable at small demands.
You fantasise about disappearing into quiet.
Your body asks for sugar, stimulation, or distraction.

You mistake depletion for laziness.

But laziness is rarely the truth.

Cold is.

The Cauldron of Warming is not fuel for performance. It is fuel for presence.

And presence requires warmth.

There is something profoundly counter-cultural about admitting you need more heat before you need more output.

About saying, “My energy is low. I will tend it.”

About choosing steadiness over spectacle.

My healing has never been loud. It has been cyclical. Since a young girl, I have been walking this path. Not chasing awakening, but practising continuity.

The Cauldron has tipped before. It will tip again. Life does that.

The work is not preventing depletion.

It is recognising it early.

It is choosing warmth before collapse.

If your Cauldron of Warming feels low right now, I want you to hear this gently:

You do not need to become a different woman.

You need to tend the one you are.

More sleep.
More sunlight.
More slowness.
Less proving.

Let your belly soften. Let your breath deepen. Let your life heat return in its own rhythm.

A hearth fire does not apologise for glowing quietly.

It simply continues to burn.

· · ────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ────── · ·

If you are in a season of rebuilding your warmth, you do not have to do it alone.

The Hearth is a space where we tend these quiet fires together.

Healing circles. Gentle Immram journeys. Seasonal ceremonies. A place to rest, receive, and remember your own rhythm.

It is not loud.

It is not urgent.

It is steady.

If your body softened even slightly while reading this, that may be your signal.

You are always welcome by the fire.

Much love

Tash - Bean Feasa